Crafted Together, Crafted Forever
by thekungfuferret
Summary: IRL Team Crafted fanfic. / Sometimes, being popular can have its drawbacks... What happens when Team Crafted finds themselves bundled in the back of a truck with a ransom note? They have one week for the ransom to be paid. If not complied to, they have one week until their captors kill them. ... or to escape. Rated K for a bit of blood/guns/
1. Chapter 1

Yay! Chapter One! Short, but nevertheless! Have a drunk Jason! (I just realized he isn't even old enough to drink alcohol. Oh well!)Remember, this is based in real life.

edit: AUGGH THIS IS SO OLD AND SHORT. D= GO LOOK AT THE A LATER CHAPTER TRUST ME IT GETS BETTER.

It was Friday night in LA. And if there is one thing everyone should know, it's that in LA, Friday night is never quiet.

A group of friends were making their way home, stumbling across an empty street. They bellowed and whooped and laughed loudly, sharing and passing around a bottle of beer while they walked. A lonely cab appeared out of the blue and almost crashed into the group. The brakes screamed as the driver suddenly stomped on it, barely stopping the cab on time. Still chattering like chickadees, the group ignored him and straggled onto the sidewalk. The driver cursed and honked angrily.

One of the group members, a young man in his twenties, turned around and yelled back gleefully, "And a good night to you, too!" Drunken laughter exploded from them. Muttering some rude insults under his breath, the cab driver insolently drove away into the night. Another group member gave the young man a hearty slap on the back.

"You sure showed him, Jason!"

"Thanks, Jerome!" he replied, a dumb smile plastered on his face. Then Jason tripped, fell right on his face, and didn't get back up. No one except an almost sober Quentin noticed.

"Hey, Mitch! Help me with Jason!" he called. Mitch, who was also rather clear-headed, ran over quickly. Together, Quentin and Mitch hauled a stunned Jason back onto his feet. He was still grinning stupidly, staring off into space and mumbling non-coherently. Mitch grunted with effort, a little surprised.

"You know, for someone so small, he's pretty heavy," he commented. Quentin shrugged.

"Oh well. But next time, let's keep an eye on how many drinks he has," was his answer. They put Jason's arms around each of their shoulders and steadied him. The trio hobbled behind the rest of Team Crafted, who was still oblivious to their struggle. Jason looked at Mitch and gave another drunken grin.

"You're pretty."

"Um, Quentin? How many cocktails did he have?"

"I don't know, Mitch. I was kind of drunk too."

"Oh."


	2. Chapter 2

By half past midnight, the team had pretty much sobered up and was talking a bit more calmly. Jason could walk by himself again, but was dragging his feet and complaining about a major headache. Confused, he asked why he felt like he had face-planted onto the sidewalk. Jerome, Ty, Adam, and Ian had no answer. Quentin and Mitch just smiled.

It was when they were two blocks away from their destination when Ty's sixth sense spiked up. His skin tingled, like a gust of cold air blew in. He stopped. It always bothered him that his instinct would perk up at times like this, but it usually ended up helping him at the end. Usually. He scanned the area around nervously, trying to pick out any potential danger.

His eyes landed on a pair of sleek black cars, perfectly identical, on the other side of the street. Their windows were tinted black, so it was impossible to tell if there was someone inside. The cars were parked behind a ratty old delivery truck with no company logo. For some reason, he started to feel a little sick in the stomach. He realized that it was the gut feeling he would always get when his sixth sense kicked in.

Ty didn't understand what was so dangerous about two cars and a truck, but he could feel his instinct screaming at him, "DANGER! RUN!" He hesitated. Instinct like his wasn't always helpful. Sometimes it would start up for no reason, which usually ended up humiliating Ty. But if it was warning him… He tapped on a friend's shoulder.

"Hey, Ian?"

"Hmm?"

"Do you think there's something… weird about those cars over there?" Ty pointed at the cars and truck. Ian frowned.

"No… They look pretty normal to me. Why?" he asked. Ty looked away, embarrassed. He racked his head for an answer.

"Oh, uh… I d-don't know. Nothing really. I just felt like…like.." He trailed off, then shook his head. "Sorry, I must still be drunk-" Ty felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked up into Ian's hard blue eyes.

"Ty, is there something wrong?" Ian asked. "Because if there is, you can tell me." Ty blinked, surprised by how serious Ian sounded. He tried to read Ian's face to see if he was joking or not. He wasn't joking. Ty hesitated again, then confessed.

"It-it's my sixth sense."

"Your what now?"

"My instinct."

"Oh. What about it?"

Ty glanced back at the cars and truck. Adrenaline pumped into his veins. 'My fight-or-flight response,' he thought. 'My body's preparing to either run or fight. For my life.' He pushed the thought away. "My instinct's telling me something's not right. It's warning me about something, but I don't know what, or why," Ty answered, looking down at the ground, unable to look at Ian's eyes. Ian nodded slowly. Ty continued, "Most of the time, my sixth sense ends up helping me, one way or another, but every now and then, there's, like… a false alarm or something. So I don't know whether to ignore it, or listen to it, or what…"

Ty looked at Ian's face. He could tell he was thinking very carefully. Ty shifted uncomfortably, waiting for Ian to say that everything was alright and that he had nothing to worry about. It felt like forever before Ian answered, "Well, if you're instinct had helped you before, I don't' see why it would fail you this time." He smiled kindly. "If you want, we can take the longer way home, on the well-lit street." He patted Ty's shoulder encouragingly. Ty was a little surprised by how mature and understanding Ian sounded, but he smiled.

"Thanks, Ian. It means a lot."

"No problem. Now let's go catch up with the others."

Hustling, the two caught up with the rest of the team, who were waiting at the crosswalk and curious about their conversation.

"Hey, what were you two talking about?"

"Nothing, really."

"C'mon, tell us!"

"Nope."

"C'mon, pleeeaaase?"

"Nope."

"Were you two 'confessing your love' to each other?"

"I sense a ship about to set sail!"

"Oh, shut up."

"I didn't know you were a shipper."

"I'm not…"

"I'm hungry."

As they walked further away, one – no, two – pairs of eyes were watching them. A person was sitting in the driver's seat of each car, observing behind the tinted glass. The third person sat in the passenger's seat beside one of the drivers. His eyes were glued onto the laptop he held, the screen casting a blue glow on his pale face. The driver next to him rolled her eyes, flipped her dark ginger hair back, then pulled out a walkie talkie and spoke into it.

"Hey, Theo?"

The driver of the other car picked up.

"Yeah, Ruth?"

"That's Team Crafted, right?"

"Yup."

She smiled darkly. Facing the other man sitting next to her, she slammed the laptop shut, forcing a squeak of shock from him.

"Hey, I was working on that!"

She ignored his complaint and shoved a strange device into his hands. He looked up at her, confused. She rolled her eyes again.

"Remi, remember? Marcus wants us to jam all the phone signals, and only a geek like you could do that."

Remi glared but set to work on the device, fiddling with buttons and messing with controls. Ruth looked out the window again at the team, who were still oblivious to their presence. She spoke into the walkie talkie again.

"Marcus? It's me, Ruth."

Static crackled. Then, "Ruth, we're busy. What do you want?" As he spoke, there was some muffled yelling heard on the other end. She could hear him shouting back "Hey, Hugo! Tell him that tied-up guy over there that if he doesn't shut up, I'll shoot him in the stomach!"

"If you don't shut up, he'll-"

"That was rhetorical, Hugo. Geez, who knew that someone so big could be so dumb?"

Ruth smirked. Everyone picked on Hugo. She spoke again, watching the team much like  
a predator would when their prey is cornered. "You might want to hurry up at the TC house. You have company coming."


	3. Chapter 3

One and a half hours earlier…

Tyler was lying in his room, spread out on top of his bed like a bed sheet. He was bored. The stupid video that he planned on posting earlier was still rendering lazily, even after 2 freaking hours. He watched as rendering percentage bar crept higher and higher at its infuriatingly slow pace:

87% … 88% ... 89% ... 89% ... 89% …

He sighed inwardly. 'Great,' he thought sarcastically, scowling at the rendering screen. 'Just great.' He hefted himself up and stretched.

It had been about three hours since Team Crafted had left the house for Ty's informal "welcome-back-to-LA party," which in reality was just an excuse to get wasted. Having had some bad experiences with alcohol, Tyler decided to pass this time, planning on uploading the video. But right now, sipping beer and partying at a bar sounded a lot better than wasting time for a 30 minute video. Tyler decided to go check on Brice, who had also stayed behind in the LA house to finish some last minute commissions. He glanced at his laptop again.

89% ... 89% ... 89% ... 89% …

He had just left his room when the security alarm went off.

BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP! BEEEEEEEEEEEEEP! BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP!

Brice woke up, startled, dropping the pen to his drawing tablet onto the floor. Still trying to wake up, he yawned. He groggily concluded that he must have gotten tired while drawing the commissions for his subscribers and fallen asleep.

A faint but shrill noise entered his ears. Frowning, he scratched his head. First he had a weird dream about cheese and turtles, and now he was imagining that the alarm had gone off. It took him a second to realize that the alarm actually was ringing. Someone had broken in through the front gate.

Immediately Brice ran out of his room and crashed into Tyler, who then awkwardly fell on top of him. Brice let out a small grunt.

"Get off of me, you big oaf," he grumbled. Tyler glared daggers at the Australian.

"Who are you calling an oaf?" Tyler retorted.

But before they could continue arguing, the sound of breaking wood was heard. A moment later, a huge crash echoed through the house as a human, a freakishly large man that could have mistaken for the Hulk, barreled through the door, tearing it from its hinges. The unfortunate piece of wood landed ten feet away from the doorway. Human Hulk, on the other hand, looked perfectly fine. Two more gatecrashers – a tall man with no sense of fashion and a vicious-looking woman, both armed – entered through the now un-barricaded doorway. The man looked impressed. "Huh. You didn't do so badly after all, Hugo," he commented. The humongous man dubbed Hugo smiled. "But you're still an idiot," the other man said blatantly. The woman simply examined her gun.

The alarm beeped louder than ever. Scowling at the noise, the tall man faced the woman and ordered, "Vanessa, give me the walkie talkie." After handing it to him, he spoke into it. "Ruth? May I speak to Remi?" Rustling was heard as Ruth handed the walkie-talkie over to the French computer geek.

"… oui, Marcus?"

"You filthy, good-for-nothing excuse for a hacker," he snarled bitterly. Even Brice winced.

"Pardon?"

"You said you got this," Marcus mimicked. "You said no problem, you could do it. You said that you TURNED OFF THE ALARM, correct?" he said, tapping his foot impatiently.

"Uh… oui?"

"THEN WHAT IS THIS NOISE THAT I HEAR RIGHT NOW? BECAUSE IT SOUNDS AN AWFUL LOT LIKE AN ALARM!" Marcus shouted, angrily pointing the walkie-talkie up into the air.

BEEEEEEEEEEEEEP! BEEEEEEEEEEEEEP! BEEEEEEEEEEEEEP!

"Oh…"

Meanwhile, Brice was literally holding his breath. Since he and Tyler were on the second floor, they hadn't been spotted yet. They were hidden behind a corner that was just a few feet from the stairwell, allowing them to see the intruders without being seen themselves.

Tyler, who still lying on top of Brice, slowly rolled off him, staying low. Giving Brice a meaningful look, he gently pulled his cellphone out of his pocket and started dialing someone. Brice watched as Tyler's finger tapped on the numbers: 9 – 1 – 1.

Calling: 9-1-1 Emergency

Barely breathing, Brice stared at the phone, waiting for someone to pick up. His heart almost stopped when he saw the words appear on the screen:

Call canceled.

Tyler frowned. He tried again. And again. And again.

Call canceled.  
Call canceled.  
Call canceled.

It was around the fifth time Tyler tried that Brice noticed something odd. He peeked around the corner again. Marcus was still ratting out poor Remi about how worthless and dumb he was while Hugo picked the door's splinters out of his shoulder, not flinching. Brice's blood ran cold when he noticed Vanessa was nowhere to be seen. Before he could warn Tyler, he saw something flash out of the corner of his vision. Suddenly, a studded black boot swiftly lashed out and struck Brice right in the nose. The world went white. He cried out and clutched his nose in pain, gritting his teeth. Something warm and sticky was dripping down his shirt; he didn't need to look to know what it was.

The owner of the lethal piece of footwear stepped around the corner, flashing her unnaturally white teeth at Brice. He was more worried about the shotgun she was casually twirling in her hand. Stepping closer, Vanessa crooned, "Don't you boys know? It's past your bedtime. It's not healthy to stay up so late." She then smacked Brice's forehead with the butt of her pistol. Pain exploded into his head. He slumped down. As world went white again, Brice faintly registered Tyler calling out his name, but he couldn't do anything to help him. With a peculiar sense of calmness, he watched as the white slowly started fading to black, creeping out from the edge of his vision and making its way into the center. When the darkness had completely overtaken his vision, he suddenly remembered a special someone of his, the thought striking him like a lightning bolt. Breathlessly, he whispered her name as he passed out…

"Shelby…"


	4. Chapter 4

Adam knew something was wrong the moment they arrived at the house. Why? Because the front door was missing.

"What the…?" he muttered, confused. The alarm would have gone off if someone had broken in, yet it was as quiet as ever. The dead silence made Adam shiver; it was never this quiet in LA. He glanced behind him. The rest of the team was huddled in the middle of the path, standing a safe distance from the house, refusing to enter. A hushed disquiet fell over them, thick and uncomfortable. A little disturbed by the serious atmosphere, Adam decided to distract himself. He tried to read the team's faces.

He could tell Mitch was shocked, but he didn't find any fear in the Canadian's eyes. Mitch didn't seem to be afraid of anything. But while Mitch still had his air of confidence, Jason's and Jerome's expressions could be described as something close to total panic. They reminded Adam much of two children who looked like they had made the wrong decision, and were waist deep in trouble. Next to them stood a silent Ian with his eyes narrowed. His face looked worried but calculating, the way it did whenever he was thinking: stern, concentrated, determining the danger of the situation. Quentin merely looked concerned.

Peculiarly, Ty was staring at the ground, arms folded, looking bothered. Puzzled, Adam regarded his friend with some concern. Ty wasn't usually this uptight. His face was tense, and he refused to look him straight in the eye. It was like he was mentally guarding himself from something, or someone. Why he was doing that, Adam couldn't answer.

Some time had passed before Adam noticed Ian was watching him curiously. Ian raised an eyebrow, as if asking, 'So, what's next?' A bit of nervousness bounded into Adam's body. He was the team's leader – or, at least, he considered himself the informal leader. Not out of greed, but out of a sense of responsibility. Though the team didn't really know it, Adam felt that he should take charge for every burden that stepped in their way. These guys were depending on him, and he couldn't fail them now. Failure wasn't an option. They needed him.

Breathing deeply, he closed his eyes. He began reciting a little mantra that always helped start his thought process. "Focus," he whispered, gathering all his thoughts into one place. "Focus, focus…

Somewhere deep in the depths of his mind, a switch flicked on. Something stirred. Then, like the gears of a grandfather clock, his 'thought machine' began running, turning and causing more areas to wake up. Plans started formulating as the wheels rotated, the teeth fitting together perfectly. Mechanisms and contemplation worked in perfect unison. Bits and pieces of information were converted into tactics. The machinery of his mind chugged away, and the words left his mouth before he even knew what they were.

"Jerome?" he ordered. "You call the police. After that, call the security company. And after that, keep a lookout. If you see anyone suspicious, just remember your own safety first." He worked quickly, gears shifting and clanking and moving around. He noted that Jerome may be ambushed, and that he may need backup. Another part of his mind was activated.

"Quentin, stay with Jerome. You two will protect each other. Watch your backs, and don't leave each other alone." His mental gears began to spin faster. Sparks flew in his mind. The strategy became more complex, just as the inside of a contraption does.

"Ty, Mitch, go to the back of the house and check if we can enter safely from there. Stay quiet and low. Don't lose sight of each other. And don't do anything stupid." He put some emphasis on the last phrase, directing it towards Mitch. Mitch gave him the evil eye, but said nothing. Adam continued.

"We'll need someone to check the alarm system inside the house, to see if there's anything clues we can use." He paused, and allowed a small flicker of fear to worm in before pushing it out and saying, "I'll go through the front. If anything happens, run and get help. I –" Mitch stepped forward.

"I'm coming with you."

"What? Wait, no!" he protested. But Mitch stood his ground. Intimidatingly, he stepped forward again. He glared, and Adam looked right into the raw gaze of a lion.

"I'm coming, whether you like it or not, Adam," he growled deeply. Shocked, Adam instinctively took a step back. Never had Mitch spoken with so much ferocity in his voice, not even when Jerome had accidentally shot him in the eye with a Nerf gun [*cough COPYRIGHT cough cough*]

It frightened him. But, as faint as it was, he caught a hint of worry in Mitch's tone, and relaxed. Mitch was just looking out for him. Somewhat reluctantly, he nodded.

"Ok then. Ian? Instead of Mitch, I want you to go with Ty to the back. Jason, go ask the neighbors if they saw anything. We'll need witnesses. You can go with, uh…"

It was at that moment that everyone suddenly remembered two certain friends that they had left behind inside the house. Ty snapped his head up, eyes wide open.

"Oh gohd."

Without thinking, he ran towards the house, shouting.

"BRICE! TYLER!"

"Ty, no!" Adam yelled. He attempted to grab him and hold him back, but only managed to grasp his shirt for a moment before it was yanked out. Stumbling, he cursed, "Dam it!" as Ty disappeared into the house, out of their line of sight. Disgruntled and miffed, he mumbled, "Ok, um… new plan. Plan B. Plan B."

'There is no plan B~' his mind sang out cheerfully.

'Shut up,' he thought. With his hand on his forehead, Adam tried to quickly form another strategy. The gears ground together in a harsh fashion. 'Focus,' he whispered. 'Focus, focus…' The wheels in his head whirled even faster, at maximum speed. Steam rolled off the machinery. And then, finally, the light bulb went off. Plan B. Snapping his finger, he pointed at Ian and Mitch.

"Ian, Mitch, come with me. We're going to the back. To the shed." Jerome and Jason glanced at him, confused. But Quentin, Mitch, and Ian understood. They knew what was in the shed. With their gazes hardened, Ian and Mitch nodded firmly. "The rest of you guys stay here," Adam instructed sternly. "Keep on trying to call the police. And DON'T come after us." He stood up tall and glared at them suspiciously. "Understood?" Jerome and Jason nodded slowly. Quentin gave Adam a look that obviously said, 'Don't worry, I'll watch over them.' Satisfied, Adam turned. Looking Mitch and Ian right in the eyes, asked, "You guys ready?"

"As ready as I'll ever be," stated Ian. Determination rang through his voice. Mitch cracked his knuckles, a glint in his eyes.

"Bring it."

And without hesitation, the trio ran towards the backyard and towards their uncertain fates.

-

Jason stood awkwardly on the path with Jerome and Quentin, watching with a certain dread that made its way into his stomach as his friends rushed to the backyard. He was cold, and shaken, and scared, and it occurred to him for one terrible moment that they may not come back. He blocked the thought out. The last thing he needed was more negativity.

A thick fog just so happened to cover up the moon at that moment, blocking out all the light and plunging the TC house into darkness. The dim light from the house illuminated the open doorway eerily, reminding Jason of a scene from a horror movie. He really didn't like horror movies. Although it was as dry as a desert, Jason managed to swallow and clear his throat, breaking the silence.

"I'll, um... I'll call the police," he stated, fumbling through his pockets. Jerome nodded wordlessly, eyes wide. Quentin grunted. Some irritation sparked in Jason. How could Quentin stay so collected in a situation as bad as this? Their friends could get hurt! Shaking off the thought, Jason started wondering if anything spurred the Mudkip.

He could barely manage to tap the numbers on the phone; his hands were sweaty and trembling. Putting it up to his ear, he waited for the ringtone. A strange beep sounded. Frowning, Jason looked at the phone screen. He nearly dropped the phone when he read the message:

Call canceled.

Jason took a shuddery breath. 'Calm down,' he thought to himself. 'I probably just accidentally pressed the hang-up button. No problem.' His hand shaking even more, he called emergency again. He was met with the same beep and message.

Call canceled.

As they always did when he was nervous, his fingers started fumbling around with the iPod in his pocket. They pressed a button, accidentally turning it on, and, coincidentally, his song "Fright" started playing – or, really, blasting – into his ears. He yelped at the sudden noise and hastily yanked his headphones out, his heart thumping loudly and precariously. 'Calm down, Jason, calm down…' he chanted mentally, closing his eyes. 'Take deep breath, let it out…'

"J-Jason?" squeaked Jerome. His voice was about an octave higher. Jason opened his eyes to see Jerome and Quentin gaping at him like he had suddenly grown horns and wings.

"What?" he asked. Jerome shakily pointed a finger at Jason's shirt. Jason looked down. If heart themselves could have heart attacks, that's how Jason would describe how he felt. He whimpered. On his shirt, poised above the left side of his chest where his heart was dancing the tango, was a small, red dot of light. A sniper's light.

The phone clattered onto the path, the sound of the cracking screen echoing into the night. Very, very slowly, Jason's arms went up, placing his hands behind his head, in the sign of surrender.

"…please don't shoot me."

Bonkers sat back in her chair and sighed in satisfaction, running her fingers through her hair. "Finally!" she said to herself, admiring the finished product. The computer screen glowed back at her, showing the new Youtube banner she had been working on. Colors splashed and complimented each other, and streaks of blue, black, and pink raced through the banner. It looked amazing.

As if on cue, a series of beeps sounded from the kitchen in a sing-song tune. 'Well, dinner's ready,' she thought to herself, skipping out to the kitchen and pulling out a plate of cabbage and potato slices from the microwave.

She was just finishing off the last of her meal when a familiar warbling sound played from her laptop. James was Skyping her. Licking her spoon, she shoved her red headphones on and answered the call.

"Hey, James."

"Hi Bonks." He sounded a little strained, like he was having a hard time keeping his cool. Bonks frowned. It wasn't very often that James became anxious; hardly anything bothered him.

"Is… there something wrong?" she questioned.

"Well, umm… it's just…" he stammered. She waited patiently. Finally he blurted, "Have you been able to contact any of Team Crafted the last few hours?"

"What?" she replied, examining a strange stain on one of her fingernails.

"I mean, can you talk to any of them? I've been Tweeting, calling, Skyping, everything! And none of them are replying!" James responded apprehensively. A tiny bit of uneasiness made its way into Bonks. It wasn't like the team to ignore James like that; they were social-media-maniacs!

"None of them?" she pushed on.

"Well, aside from you and me. But I can't contact Brice, Jason, Mitch, anybody! Not even Weedlion! Trust me, I tried!"

The Skype call warbled again. It was Weedlion. Bonks snorted.

"Not even Weedlion, eh?" she smiled, allowing her uneasiness to fly away. She could just imagine the look on James's face right now. 'Maybe I could draw that…' she considered with amusement. A dumbfounded James just stuttered.

"But- but I- "

"Hello? Bonkers?" The animator's familiar voice entered the call, and his friendly face appeared on the screen. He was a young man, with long, light brown hair and a pair of eyes hidden behind some glasses. The light bounced off them, making it impossible to see his eyes from beneath the glare. It gave a somewhat mysterious look, but it never bothered Bonkers.

Scratching the back of his head, Weedlion smiled. "Oh, hi Monkey."

James scowled. "Screw you." He pulled out the middle finger.

"…excuse me?"


End file.
